


Sausages For Dinner

by athersgeo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/pseuds/athersgeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded over night in a small town, Phryne and Jack find far more trouble than they bargained for</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sausages For Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janet_carter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janet_carter/gifts).



> This is set between the final two episodes of season 3
> 
> The characters aren't mine - no harm, no foul!
> 
> No betas have been harmed in the writing of this fic - all mistakes are my own.

"I should have known."

Phryne glanced at Jack. His tone was so dry it was impossible to tell what he was thinking about the situation they'd found themselves in, whether he was annoyed or angry. His face, like his voice, was giving nothing away. "I swear, Jack, this wasn't my idea." If all else failed, beg forgiveness.

At that, his mouth twitched, suggesting he was actually amused. Well that was unexpected.

"Miss Fisher, trouble is attracted to you the way iron filings are attracted to a magnet." He gestured at the solitary and perilously narrow bed. "I really shouldn't have been surprised to discover that, on a trip taken in your company, first our car breaks down and then we discover that this hotel has only one room available, and it's a single."

Phryne frowned. "You make me sound like some kind of bad luck charm."

"You are. Though, I'll admit, it's usually for other people."

Phryne bridled at the casual agreement. Though a mental inventory of the past six months did lend his comments a degree of credence. Then she saw the twinkle in Jack's eyes and realised that he had been teasing. She growled and punched him non-too-gently in the arm. "What are we going to do?"

"The car should be repaired tomorrow. As for tonight, I suggest that we make the best of it."

They had come a long way since the early days of their association. Somewhat more than friends but still not quite lovers – at this point, Phryne had lost track of which one of them was playing hard to get; they'd swapped roles so many times – it was a comfortable situation. If, occasionally, a trifle frustrating. This was rapidly dropping into the 'frustrating' category.

"How?" she appealed. "One bed in a room barely bigger than my wardrobe..."

"You surprise me, Miss Fisher." Jack had given up any pretence at not looking amused. Though he wasn't outright smiling, humour was sparkling in his eyes and his mouth was curving ever-so-slightly upwards. "Or are you telling me you snore?"

Phryne glared at him. "I do not snore. And that isn't the problem. The problem is that there is simply no room for both of us in this room."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Ah." Jack smirked infuriatingly. "A second weakness."

Phryne put her hands on her hips and rounded on him. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

Jack gestured at the room. "You're claustrophobic."

"Of all the ridiculous--"

"Then why are you so bothered by the size of the room?"

Well, yes. She could see how he might have that impression, given her protestations. "It's not that – and I've stayed in smaller spaces; the house I was born in wasn't much bigger than this all told." She sighed. "It's simply this: we shall have to try and share the bed, because there isn't enough room for one of us to do anything so chivalrous as sleep on the floor and I had rather hoped the first time we slept together would be both a touch more romantic, to say nothing of comfortable."

Spelling it out rewarded her with a faint blush, slowly painting Jack's cheeks. "Ah." Then he swallowed. "As I said; we will just have to make the best of it."

Phryne blinked. The blush was expected. The remarks were not. "You're taking this extremely well."

Jack shrugged. "Not as if either of us have much choice." And so saying, he loosened his tie and perched on the edge of the bed.

Phryne toed off her heels. "I suppose we don't." But she hesitated.

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I don't bite."

Phryne smirked. "Not even if I ask nicely?"

The blush was back, but Jack gamely volleyed back, "Well then, I might need to make an exception."

Phryne considered continuing the flirtation, but the drab walls of the poky little room reminded her that this was not the place for a real seduction. "Maybe next time."

"You believe there will be a next time?"

"I certainly hope so." She shrugged out of her shawl and finally took up her own seat on the bed. It really was going to be extremely cosy. "Having ruled out more...interesting pastimes," Jack snorted, "what should we do with ourselves between now and dinner?"

"There is the novel concept of sleeping, of course," said Jack dryly.

Phryne offered a mock pout at this. "Inspector Robinson, you're no fun."

"Good." With due care for her position, Jack eased back onto the bed until he could lie down. No sooner had he done so than he was springing back up – this time with far less care and a bitten off curse.

"What now?" Phryne asked.

"I think this mattress may actually be made from rocks," Jack answered, massaging his back. "One of the cells back in City South would be more comfortable."

"Ja-ack—"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

"No, I am not going to ask the local police if we can stay in their cells over night," he said.

Phryne's pout was genuine this time. "How did you guess?"

"Because I know you," said Jack. "If we stay there, if they were even prepared to let us, you'd spend the next six months telling everyone about the night you spent in jail with Inspector Jack Robinson. No, thank you."

"You have to admit it would be fun to see Aunt Prudence's expression."

Jack's shudder was all the answer Phryne needed.

"In that case, we need to try and do something about those rocks," she continued. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

They both stood up and Phryne flung the bedding back. Quite what she was expecting to see, she wasn't sure, but a large blood stain certainly wasn't it.

"You know, that police cell is looking better by the moment," Jack muttered.

"At least it isn't recent." Phryne was aiming for a positive tone to her voice, but from Jack's expression, she knew she'd missed by a country mile. She sighed. "Well there goes any thoughts either of us had of sleeping."

"And it looks as if I'll be speaking to the local police, after all." Jack sighed. "And, it would appear, I now owe Bert a bottle of beer, too."

Phryne eyed him. "The police, I understand, but what does Bert have to do with this?"

Jack looked sheepish. "Bert told me you'd find something suspicious."

"And you bet against me?"

"Hoped, more like."

"I'm not sure whether to be insulted or flattered." Phryne pulled on her shoes once more. "Well, Inspector, shall we investigate?"

~*~

Phryne followed Jack as he headed out of the hotel. She was a touch surprised that he hadn't stopped and spoken with the owner on the way out, but a look from Jack made her hold her tongue until they were out of earshot and in the middle of the street.

"Why aren't we talking to the owner?"

"Because I've worked enough small-town crime in my time to know it's better to learn the lie of the land first."

Phryne thought about her own experiences with up-country investigations and recognised the common sense in Jack's answer.

"Besides, the sergeant in charge here is an old friend," Jack continued. "Don't want to step on his toes."

"Ah." That also made sense.

They finished crossing the street and entered the small police station, where a very bored looking constable was idly doodling on a jotter pad behind the desk. He straightened up when he realised he had visitors.

"How can I help?"

"Is Sergeant Jones--" But that was as far as Jack got before another officer, clearly a sergeant from the stripes on his uniform, appeared from the back room at what Phryne would almost describe as a run.

"Jack Robinson – it never is!"

"Freddie. You're looking well."

"Can't complain." Jones was a big man in every direction, with the ruddy face that Phryne had long associated with a man who spent much of his day in the open air and sunshine. "And how are you doing? And Rosie – I heard about that business with Sanderson--"

"Yes." Jack hissed a sigh at the name of his former father-in-law. "Rosie travelled back to England, to stay with her mother's family. I haven't heard anything from her since she left. No reason for her to write now, after all."

Phryne was amused to see Jones actually cringe at the reference, no matter how oblique, to the fact that Jack and Rosie were no longer married.

"Sorry, Jack – I know you and Rosie...well. Anyway, what brings you to these parts?"

Phryne cleared her throat. "He was escorting me to Ballarat, to testify in a court case there and our car broke down."

Jones did something of a comical double-take.

Jack rolled his eyes.

Phryne merely smiled serenely and held out her hand. "Phryne Fisher."

"Freddie Jones – Sergeant." Jones briefly shook his head and finally regained his composure. "You'd be the lady detective I've been hearing about."

"That's right."

"Now we're all acquainted," muttered Jack. "We're staying over at the hotel."

Jones frowned. "The cell here would be better than that place."

"We've noticed," said Jack dryly. "Have you had any missing persons cases in these parts recently?"

Jones' frown deepened. "Only old Bessie."

"Bessie?"

"Yep."

"How long's she been missing?" Phryne asked.

"Oh, about six months or so, I'd guess." The words were said casually, as if it was no matter. "Did a search and found where she'd broken free, but didn't find any signs of her after that."

Phryne was beginning to have visions of another case of slavery or worse and so was Jack, to judge by his expression. Then he rolled his eyes.

"Freddie, is Bessie a person?"

Jones looked as if Jack had taken complete leave of his senses. "Bessie was Mayor Brown's prize winning sow."

And suddenly the world made sense again.

"My best guess is she wandered off into the bush and got lost. That bloody pig was forever breaking out of her pen. Usually she came into town and trampled a few gardens while she was at it, but not this time."

Phryne and Jack exchanged looks. Pig blood and human blood would look indistinguishable, dried and six months old.

"Why?" Jones asked. "Y'think you've seen her?"

"I think we might have seen evidence of what happened to her," said Jack carefully.

Jones rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Really? Where?"

"On a sheet," said Phryne. "At the hotel."

"Hrm." Jones rubbed his chin again. "See, that both does and doesn't make sense. It was Jim's roses that Bessie was most partial to but Jim's not daft. If he'd got evidence like that he'd make an effort to get rid of it or at least hide it."

"So you don't think he did it?"

"Hell if I know," said Jones. "Pardon my language," he added, catching Phryne's eye.

"Don't mind me," she said with a smirk.

Jack rolled his eyes.

"If you want to look into it, be my guest," Jones continued. "Mayor Brown keeps asking if I've got anywhere with my 'investigation' but, I tell you, a pig that wandered off into the bush just isn't a priority. We have bigger problems with cattle rustlers, a string of burglaries, other thefts--"

"And the occasional drunken brawl between farm hands," put in the constable who had, up to this point, been content to remain quiet.

Jones favoured his subordinate with a long look before turning back to Jack. "Point is: you'd be doing me a favour if you can solve it."

"Well we do like a challenge," said Phryne with a smile.

"And," Jones concluded, "Katie will have my guts if I don't tell you that we have a spare room that you're more than welcome to. Better all ways round than Jim's place."

"Then we'll accept – on both counts," said Jack with a nod. "Thank you."

"No, really, thank you!" Jones replied. "Jack, you're a life-saver."

~*~

After being briefed on where they could locate the mayor, Phryne and Jack stepped back out into the late afternoon sunshine.

"If you knew Sergeant Jones," Phryne began, "why did we book into the hotel in the first place?"

"Because, I was trying to avoid you and Katie Jones meeting."

Phryne lifted her eyebrows. "Any particular reason?" Oddly, Jack was blushing. "Should I assume she has a fine collection of incriminating material?"

"I think we should go and talk to Mayor Brown."

It was a valiant effort on Jack's part to try and change the subject. "She does!" Phryne wasn't prepared to let it go just yet. "This town is looking more interesting by the moment." She started to walk in the direction of the mayor's house. "Well? I thought you said we should talk to the mayor?"

Behind her, she heard Jack mutter something about "should have known", which made her smile. He easily caught her up and they progressed to the mayor's house in silence.

The mayor, a little man built with the proportions of a small barrel, was in his front yard, dressed in a gardening smock and poking at some insipid looking bushes. He had the odious look of a career politician and one that Phryne suspected was easy to dislike even before you reached the subject of pigs with a talent for escapology.

She stood back, content to allow Jack to lead the talking. Instead, she listened to what Angus Brown said and, just as importantly, what he didn't say. He was all righteous indignation about Bessie's disappearance, but down-played her vandalism until Jack put him on the spot.

"It was just a few blight-ridden roses," Brown finally muttered. "Jim Stevens was more sore that I refused to grant him a license."

"Was that before or after your pig destroyed his roses?" Phryne interjected.

"After."

"And on what grounds did you reject his application?"

Jack was now eyeing her with a mild air of puzzlement. Phryne shot him a small smile.

"Not a fit and proper upstanding citizen," said Brown pompously.

"That doesn't sound like sufficient grounds to me, does it to you, Jack?" She didn't wait for Jack to respond but ploughed on. "No, I think you refused it in retaliation."

"That's ridiculous!"

But it wasn't. Brown's eyes were twitching and his whole demeanour had changed to that of a man caught in a lie. Jack pounced. A few trenchant questions further and Brown broke.

"All right, it was in retaliation but – he threatened Bessie!"

Phryne hastily covered her mouth in an effort to smother a fit of the giggles. Brown was making it sound like the whole matter had the deadly serious cast that a mob war in Melbourne would have. Brown had been right, it was ridiculous – just not in the way he'd meant his protestations.

"She'd got into his roses again; trampled them flat. And he said that if she ever got out again, he was going to shoot her. My Bessie! She's won awards! She's not just some common source of bacon!" Brown hesitated. "You're not going to charge me are you?"

"You have committed a crime, Mr Brown – abuse of power," said Jack, using his sternest tone of voice. "You should be charged for it – but that will be for Sergeant Jones to determine."

Brown actually whimpered at this.

They left him standing in the middle of his garden and made their way back to the hotel.

"So what are you thinking?" Phryne asked. "That Jim Stevens followed through on his threat?"

"It seems likely," said Jack. "Though personally, I'd have kept the pig and shot the mayor."

"Jack!"

"I don't like people who use public office for their own ends," was the terse reply.

Considering he'd had to arrest his ex-father-in-law for just that only six months ago, Phryne should have realised that was likely a sore spot. "Sorry, Jack."

Jack just gave a grunt and pushed open the door into the hotel in time to meet Jim Stevens coming in the other direction.

"Ah – I hope your room's to your liking."

"Not exactly," said Phryne. "The sheet covered in pig's blood was an interesting choice."

Stevens blanched. "Pig's blood? I don't--"

"I think you do know what I'm talking about," said Phryne. "We've already spoken to Angus Brown. He says you threatened to shoot his pig if she escaped again – and we already know she escaped again. So...?"

Stevens seemed to sag. "Yes, I shot her. Bloody nuisance. And Brown's worse. Wouldn't build her a proper pen. Kept her in his yard. I took her to the local abattoir and they dealt with her afterwards – and I'm not sorry. It wasn't just about me roses. She'd done a tonne of other damage, up and down the town. She'd even tried to go for one of the kids. She was a menace and if Brown wasn't going to fix it, someone had to."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" Phryne asked.

"Sergeant Jones tried – but Brown didn't listen to him any more than he listened to anyone else. As for the old constable, I've seen more useful ashtrays fitted to a motorbike. Heard he got a job down in the city. Good riddance to him."

Phryne and Jack exchanged a look. This wasn't where Hugh's stand-in had come from, was it?

"You're not going to charge me, are you?" Stevens finished up.

"Criminal damage, theft and disposing of stolen property," said Jack, ticking points off on his fingers. "All crimes, last time I checked."

Stevens' face fell.

"There is still the matter of the sheet," Phryne pointed out.

"It sounds like it's what I wrapped Bessie's body in to transport her to the abattoir, but I put that out for—the little bast, that is, the little beggar!"

Phryne rolled her eyes. "No, please. Don't mind me," she muttered.

"Who?" asked Jack.

"Don Turnbull. I had to let him go this morning – found he'd been helping himself to the petty cash. He wasn't happy – swore he'd get even with me."

"And where would he have found the sheet?"

"I put it in the pile for the incinerator. Thought it had burned up weeks ago, but I reckon Don found it and thought it might be handy. When I get my hands--"

Jack cleared his throat. "We'll deal with Mr Turnbull – if you can tell us where to find him?"

Stevens duly provided some directions, then said, "I'll go and hand meself in to Sergeant Jones. I never meant to commit a crime; I was just so angry!"

Again Phryne had to try and stifle her giggles.

"That won't be necessary just yet," said Jack. "Just don't leave town in the meantime."

Moments later and they were back out on the street.

"Jack, you're not really going to be arresting him are you?" Phryne asked as the headed towards Don Turnbull's home. "I know he committed a crime--"

"Three, to be exact," said Jack.

"—but don't you think there are some extenuating circumstances?"

Jack's mouth turned up in the briefest of smiles. "I do – I suspect Freddie will probably handle it all by cautioning both him and Brown. I don't think anyone will want to see this one go to court."

"No."

Up ahead, she spotted someone coming out of the house that Stevens had indicated belonged to Turnbull. He was carrying a suitcase and was clearly set on leaving.

"Before we chase him down," said Phryne, "what crime has he committed?"

"Other than the theft charges which, I'm assuming Stevens will likely be pressing?" Jack retorted. "Criminal damage probably covers it."

"Good to know."

Turnbull chose that moment to look up and see them. He took one look and then turned to run, though hampered by his suitcase, he was struggling to make any kind of speed.

"What's he got in there, lead weights?" Phryne wondered, even as Jack took off after their suspect.

Turnbull chose to toss aside the suitcase, which promptly burst open, revealing it was stuffed full of assorted pieces jewellery and other easily stealable – and valuable – trinkets together with an odd assortment of what appeared to be piping.

"I think we've just found Freddie Jones' burglar," Phryne muttered, even as Jack tackled Turnbull to the ground and placed him under arrest.

Closer to and Phryne realised that she'd been half right. Though not lead weights, the piping **was** made of lead, suggesting that Don Turnbull had also been stealing scrap metal as well as more gaudy items. She reached where Jack had finally subdued Turnbull.

"Not a bad afternoon's work, Jack," she said. "We've solved half of Sergeant Jones' case load for him and wrapped up the mystery of the bloody sheet."

"And nobody died, either."

"Except for Bessie," said Phryne.

"A new record," said Jack. "Now if you could just gather up Mr Turnbull's loot, we can tie everything up and still have plenty of time before Katie Jones serves up dinner."

~*~

Jones listened as they recounted the whole sorry story for him. His grinning constable had been delighted to lock Turnbull up – clearly there was a story there, Phryne thought – while Jones himself had been delighted to receive the suitcase full of stolen goods.

He was rather less delighted with Jack enumerating the various other crimes that had been committed.

"Don't rightly know what I'm going to do with Mayor Brown or Jim Stevens," he said as the story wound down. "It's all so petty."

"Caution them and warn them about further behaviour, I suppose," said Jack.

"And that will have to do, I suppose." Jones shook his head. "Meanwhile, locking up Don Turnbull should mean I can keep a better eye on things here in town. That should help. Oh, and I've spoken to Katie – she knows you're coming."

"Thank you, Freddie."

"No, mate. Like I told you. You're the one who's done me a favour – turns out, it was an even bigger favour than I thought!"

Bidding Jones goodbye for now, Phryne and Jack stepped back out into the early evening and started to walk in the direction of Jones' home.

They walked in silence for a few yards, then Phryne said, "One thing, Jack."

"Only one?"

"After this afternoon, I do sincerely hope it's not to be sausages for dinner."

Jack just laughed.


End file.
